


Pet

by emp_sis



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canon Rewrite, F/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emp_sis/pseuds/emp_sis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperate to save Buffy from being killed because of her calling, Joyce makes an impulsive purchase that will forever change their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> Just a "THANK YOU!" to my BETA Anigen! I hope she's still with me.

Joyce was at her wits end. She couldn't believe it. Her baby. Her sweet, innocent little girl. She was going to die. True it wouldn't happen right away. Buffy had a few more years, or so she hoped. But it would happen, and it was more than likely to be violent, and painful, and at the hands of some monster.

An honest to God, real live monster.

All because her baby girl was a slayer. She had been 'Chosen', like it not and she most assuredly did not, to go out every night, alone, and face all sorts of horrible bloodthirsty creatures. Buffy was supposed to kill these fantastical demons until one of them killed her. Then it would be some other poor little girl's cruel destiny.

The few sips of dark coffee Joyce had managed to swallow curdled in her stomach. Here she was, sitting in a quiet little corner café, by herself. She was nursing a cup that she had purchased some time ago, and had yet to realize that it had long since gone cold. She was too busy trying to deal.

Buffy was being released tomorrow. She would be coming home from the sanatorium and Joyce had no idea what to do, or how to respond to her only child. When Buffy had told them of her calling, Hank had thought she was crazy. To be honest, so did Joyce. Even though that scruffy Englishman had twice before warned them about Buffy's destiny, they still went ahead and had her committed. Joyce confessed that it was not the best way to handle the problem, but then everything at the time was spiraling out of control. Her drinking, Hank's affairs, their fighting, the divorce. It was all too much and Buffy was the one who paid the price.

Buffy's calling had broken the proverbial camel.

Forewarned is never forearmed in real life. Back when Buffy had been only an innocent six year old, the scruffy 'Watcher' had come to them in the park and insisted that her baby had 'Potential'. They had written him off as some loony child pervert. To this day she is still stunned at how the policeman they had complained to simply spoke a little to the Englishman then let him be. The second time he visited it had been the morning after Buffy had left for school. He told them she had been 'Called'; they told him not too politely to go away. He was dead now; Buffy said he had been killed by vampires.

It wasn't just him; Buffy's doctor at the asylum had also told her that everything her daughter had been saying was true. The doctor had even had the audacity to exclaim that it had been good to have Buffy committed as she had taken care of a little demon problem at the hospital. That coupled with a stern letter of reprimand from the 'Council of Watchers' in merry old England, Joyce was faced with the dire task of having to believe. Even when it meant that Buffy's days were numbered. Joyce couldn't go back to ignoring the issue. She refused to force her daughter to suffer, alone, anymore.

She hated the cold nauseating feeling of helplessness that seemed to claw into her flesh and bones.

Eventually she got up and tossed out her coffee cup. _'Maybe a bit of fresh air will help'_. She buttoned her jacket and braved the great outdoors. The weather was fairly temperate but the wind was brisk when it chose to be. Even so she left her car and marched down the next few blocks with purpose.

Soon enough her steps slowed to a stop, leaving her leaning desolate against the nearest store front. She must have stayed there for a few hours, reining in tears, before a small sign in the window came into focus. She had been staring sightlessly for some time before the words seeped into her brain.

**'… protecting your loved ones since …'**

_'Protect? Buffy.'_ Joyce mused in confusion. Looking up she saw the name of the store that had been holding her up.

_'Exotic/Specialty Pets & Companions'_ Joyce read _'Why stop here?'_ , but she entered the establishment anyway. Inside she saw notices for special breeds, like Afghan hounds, and others for Seeing Eye and Hearing Ear work animals. She didn't leave though, for some reason she kept seeing that phrase _'protecting your loved ones'_. Could there possibly been some beast for sale that she could get to protect her baby? Against demons?

"Can I help you?"

Joyce turned to meet the shopkeeper. The woman was of an indefinite age, olive skinned, and must have been taller than any female had ever met. She could have been an Amazon in another life, if not for her eyes, which seemed loving and kind as well as shrewd and calculating.

"I don't know." Joyce told her.

"Perhaps if you explained your situation we can see what can be done."

Joyce did, or at least she tried. "My little girl, she just turned fifteen not too long ago. Still just a baby… she's a slayer. She has to fight these monsters, and demons all by herself, but she's just a little girl." She stammered but pressed on, hoping she wasn't sounding as completely insane as she thought. "She's going to get … I can't… I would pay anything, Do anything to keep my baby safe. I'm sorry that it sounds crazy, but I just didn't know, and your sign said protecting loved ones, and there is no one I could possibly love more than her."

"I understand," the woman nodded, patting Joyce's shoulder softly. "I may have something for you. Please come this way."

The shop girl lead the way down a long hallway that stopped at the top of what appeared to be the basement stairs.

"Now Mrs. .. err?"

"Summers. Joyce Summers."

"Mrs. Summers." She smiled, filling Joyce with a sense of relief. "Down here we store our more special and dare I say exotic companions. As you said earlier how you were willing to pay and do anything, there is someone in particular I would like you to meet. Are you still willing?"

"Yes. Please." Joyce answered desperately.

The two women entered the lower level filled with what appeared to be Star Trek-like holding cells. Residing within each pen were beings and creatures beyond description. They didn't stop until they reached the very last enclosure. Joyce addressed her attention to the occupant and was startled. Within the confines paced a handsome young man, dressed all in black from head to toe. His hair was a shockingly unnatural white, with a small diagonal scar above his right eye. He had a devilish smirk when he saw them, but his cobalt eyes were cold and angry. He radiated with the aura of a caged wild cat ornery and intrigued.

"This is Spike." The shopkeeper said. "He's a vampire."

Joyce was astounded. 'This is what Buffy had to slay every night? Oh my. Seems almost a waste.'

"Now he isn't your average vampire." The shopkeeper continued. "He's the youngest Master Vampire in written history, plus one of the monikers he holds is 'the Slayer of Slayers', for his victory over two of the more promising Slayers ever called. Accomplished no less in a fair, one on one, death match. Spike I'd like you to meet Mrs. Joyce Summers. She's looking to buy you for her daughter."

"H.. hello Spike." The vampire nodded in greeting.

"Perhaps Mrs. Summers, you could tell Spike here your story."

Joyce did though she couldn't say why. Perhaps she felt in her heart that this man, this vampire named Spike, for some reason would understand. So she told him all about Buffy Anne Summers. When she was born: the date, time, how much she weighed, and her first words. About her Dorothy Hammel phase, and ice-capade birthday tradition. About her own marriage to Hank and subsequent divorce. About all the warnings they had received about Slayers, and about Buffy being committed. She told him of their mistakes, her drinking, and even about the time Buffy fell in love with Mr. Gordo, her stuffed pig. She talked about Buffy's cheerleading, ignoring how Spike's eyes lit up with mischief. She mentioned how Buffy burned down the school gym whilst killing vampires and her resulting expulsion, and heard him giggle with interest. Joyce told Spike everything and anything, going so far as to burrowing into her purse to show him photos that she kept in her wallet. She talked of her hopes and fears, especially her fears.

"This is Buffy, my baby girl, Spike. My world." Joyce confessed. "Nothing else matters to me. Not where and how we live. Not society. Not money. Not people, monsters, or councils in England matter one bit. Only Buffy matters."

"So you want me to what? Be her lil doggie then." He snarked in a brash British accent.

"I want you to keep her alive." She stated.

The shopkeeper chose that moment to regain their attention. "The reason I wanted you to see Spike here, Mrs. Summers, is this. Slayers are notoriously short lived, we all know this, and I have to say that your daughter will be no exception. However, what is not common knowledge is that at the core of every Slayer lies the pure essence of a demon's soul, put there at their creation. That extra spark of darkness is what gives the girl's their power."

"It is only an essence of demon within them, so all slayers are in fact completely human. What I am proposing to you madam is, with the purchase of Spike, we perform a ritual that will allow us to contact or harness that demonic spark inside your daughter. This ritual will do more than give her a chance at survival, but a chance at living a relatively normal life."

"What is this ritual and how is Spike needed?"

"It is an ancient binding ceremony that would tie Buffy's demonic essence and Spike's demon together."

"Oi!" Spike snarled in complaint. His face shifted before Joyce's surprised eyes, bursting forth with golden eyed and sharp fanged fury.

_'Oh. That's a vampire.'_ Joyce thought fearfully.

"Quiet Spike." The shopkeeper scolded.

"Now the ritual is a lot like a mating claim."

"A Claim?"

"Think of it like a marriage…"

"S'more permanent than that pet." Spike spat.

"Spike!" the woman scolded again. "As I was saying. It is like a marriage, like a hand fasting ceremony except like Spike so rudely inferred it is quite permanent. There would be no divorce, no annulment, not even a 'till death do they part'."

"I don't' know." Joyce hedged. "What about love? What if Buffy doesn't even like him? Or vice-versa? I do not like th idea of my little girl trapped in a loveless existence."

"Rest assured that that will not be the case Mrs. Summers." The shopkeeper replied with the speed and confidence all retail associates had when dealing with the possibility of a lost sale. "The binding cannot occur unless both individuals agree. And I have a feeling that these two were made by the Powers That Be, especially for each other."

"There are many advantages to the claiming ritual." She pressed on, as Joyce seemed to take her words to heart. "Being bound to a creature of Spike's characteristics, your daughter will become stronger, faster, and be practically immortal. All these things while remaining human. She will never be alone again, as Spike will forever be at her side. She will be loved, Mrs. Summers, as Spike has an unending capacity for it unlike others of his ilk. She will be respected and cherished, for as much as he would prefer to appear otherwise, Spike is and always will be the Victorian gentleman his mother raised him to be. She will also be supported and satisfied by him in ways no other man ever could."

"No one?"

"As a slayer… no as a young woman with incredible strengths and desires, normal human males would be intimidated and insecure in her presence. They would ultimately discourage her potential and be physically unable to satisfy her needs." She clarified. "In the end your daughter would suffer crippling emotional traumas that would…"

"Kill her." Spike concluded.

"Yes, thank you Spike." She sighed in exasperation. "Just imagine, Mrs. Summers. Being married to Spike she would be spared such hardships. She would continue to grow and even be able to bare children should she choose. With Spike, she would never become feeble, never get sick, and never die a terrifyingly horrible death."

Joyce nodded. This is what she had been wanting all along after all. Spike seemed like a perfectly amiable young vampire.

The shopkeeper grinned at Joyce. "Of course I cannot guarantee that she will not get sick of Spike here. He does have an infallible ability to be as annoying at times as he is charming. Where he lacks in the ability to perform thrall like other vampires of his lineage, he more than makes up for with his bizarre form of vampire ADD." She teased.

"I do not have sodding ADD!" Spike whined, rising to the bait. "I just get bored easily. Doesn't help being all locked up like this, without so much as a telly."

Joyce smiled for the first time in a long while. _'Pouting vampire! He's perfect!'_ She thought as a small seed of hope began to plant itself inside her. "So he can really save my baby."

"He can, Mrs. Summers."

Joyce looked Spike carefully in the eyes. "Will you?"

The bleached blonde vampire tilted his head to the side as he considered her proposition. With a quirk of an eyebrow he replied.

"Yeah mum. I will."

And the seed bloomed.


	2. the Second chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically filler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a "THANK YOU!" to my BETA Anigen! I hope she's still with me.

There was much to do before Joyce could sit back and relax. She had yet to change the bed linens in Buffy’s room in preparation for her arrival. There was also the shopping for necessary items for the _“wedding”_ , as she was calling it, before she could bring her new purchase home and into their lives. Not to mention the letters sent all the way from England sitting on her desk, waiting for her attention. She swore they seemed to radiate severe stuffiness from across the room, and she was loathed to open them and read the council’s latest dictate.

Regardless of all these pressing matters demanding her attention, Joyce simply wrote the _“wedding”_ date on her calendar, brewed a nice cup of cocoa, and began to peruse the dossier on Spike that she had been given from the Shopkeeper after she had completed maxing out her brand new MasterCard. The folder was a mix of timelines, photographs, and what appeared to be a combination essay/interview.

‘Spike’, born Sir William Henry Pratt in 1859 was a gentleman of honest means and social standing. He lived in London, England, all his life, excluding the years spent at Oxford where he graduated with highest honors. He lived comfortably in the family townhouse, which he shared with his mother Lady Anne Price, widow of Sir Edgar William Pratt. William was a meek, effete young man who spent most days at home caring for his aforementioned ailing mother.

_The subject describes his late mother as a kind gentlewoman, who loved him greatly. She would often sing the folksong “Early One Morning” to him when he was a baby, right up until the time of his turning._

William Pratt was a struggling, and often regarded as talentless by his peers, poet. It is at this time that he earned the name “William the Bloody Awful Poet”. A name that would later be shortened to simply “William the Bloody”, and used in an entirely different context. At the time of his turning, in 1880, William Pratt was approximately 21 years of age and attempting to court an aristocratic young Miss named Cecily Underwood. After his romantic overtures were rejected, he was later found wandering the streets, entirely despondent, by his Sire, the Vampire: Drusilla of the Aurelian Order.

_The subject would like it noted that after his turning he did not seek out the young lady who had broken his fragile human heart all those years ago. Her subsequent disappearance was in no way a result of his actions. Let it be known that history does not show any record of a Miss Cecily Underwood around the times of 1860-1880. In fact the Underwood family have no record of ever having had any offspring, what so ever._

There is often much deliberation about who sired William Pratt the vampire. Let it be known that the blood exchange transpired between Drusilla and William, though it was Drusilla’s sire, Angelus, who took up the responsibilities of teaching the young fledging, due to her being incapacitated with incurable insanity. It is unknown as to the type of affections Angelus was undergoing towards the young vampire, whether it was familial, romantic, or if it was for his own dark, sociopathic personal amusement.

_The subject is refusing to comment._

Whereas new vampires, or fledglings, often delight in killing their families once they’ve embraced the evil within themselves, William Pratt was a notable exception. Having been very close to his mother, he turned her into a vampire to prevent her from dying from tuberculosis. Unfortunately his mother, as a vampire, was such a dark in tauntingly twisted creature that William was forced to stake her for both their sakes.

_The subject confesses that he had been dead only a day and had not yet learned that as a fledgling he was unable to sufficiently produce another vampire of their superior ilk. That fledglings made from the newly risen always come out a little bit wrong. The fact that he had enough presence of mind, however, to attempt a turning when most new vampires simply feed like starved beasts says quite a bit about him._

After the death of his mother, William Pratt began his new life with Drusilla, her sire Angelus, and his sire Darla. They traveled across Europe causing chaos and carnage under the moniker ‘The Scourge of Europe’. Euphoric with his newfound abilities, he adopted the poses and trappings of a cultural rebel, adopting a working class North London accent and embracing impulsiveness and extreme violence. He later became known as ‘Spike’ based on his habit of torturing people, notably those of his old peerage whom used to bully him in life, with railroad spikes.

_The subject would like it known that his primary victims had previously asked for said spiking and that he was only fulfilling their desires. It should not reflect poorly upon him that the “damned ponces” did not know what they were getting themselves into, though they “bloody well got what they bloody well deserved”._

In 1900 Spike killed his first slayer in China, during the Boxer Rebellion. It is the only time a reasonably young vampire had ever slain their mortal enemy, in honest hand to hand combat. It is noted that the Chinese Slayer was armed with a holy sword at that time, which she used to scar Spike over his right eyebrow. In 1943, he was captured by Nazi’s for experimentation and taken aboard a submarine, which he later escaped from alongside a newly sired vampire named Lawson and, his grandsire, Angelus.

_Let it be noted that the subject describes the vampire Lawson as “an alright bloke” and Angelus as “a sodding poof”. I am unsure as to why that is of importance._

At some point between 1940 and 1950, Spike became the rival of the famous Dracula. Their mutual hatred was caused when Spike, along with Drusilla and Darla, slaughtered the Romani gypsy tribe in retribution for pains suffered upon Angelus. The clan in question was favored by Dracula, as they taught him all manners of magic and trickery in exchange for protection.

_The subject again wants it noted that Dracula is a “bloody nancy boy who owes him eleven pounds”._

In 1977 Spike fought and slew the Slayer Nikki Wood, in New York, aboard a subway train. At this point he gained the moniker “The Slayer of Slayers”. It is unclear as to why Spike chose not to drink this particular Slayer’s blood after defeating her, as he had his previous Slayer.

_Even when pressed, the subject refuses to reveal his reasons._

Spike is seen as something of a paradox in the demon community. Where he is exalted for his prowess and charisma and killer instincts and his frequent challenges towards traditional convention and limitations, he is silently shunned for his continuing embrace of elements of humanity such as love, loyalty, and honor. Spike is not above leaving anonymous flowers to show respect to his fallen victims or nemeses. Many of Spikes actions, good or evil, are motivated by his ability to love, maybe not wisely but truly.

_The subject insists we use the term “love’s bitch”._

One of Spike’s more noticeable personality traits is his lust for violence and brawling. Despite this, he is highly intelligent and has skills of insight and analysis, particularly in regards to relationships and the human condition, strategy, psychology, literature and linguistics. In addition to possessing vampire powers and weakness, Spike’s age and experience makes him a highly effective, skilled, and versatile fighter in both armed and unarmed combat. He is highly proficient in a plethora of martial arts, as well as fencing, riding, and shooting. Although capable of developing sound battle strategies, Spike often looses patience with anything more complex than an outright attack.

_The subject confesses that he had a plan. A good, smart, well laid plan; but that he got bored, so if we could please leave off the subject, he does not have ADD._

Spike is also highly experienced in picking locks, pockets, and hotwiring just about every vehicle build by man. He also makes a mean chili.

_The subject assures me that it is “to die for but that it will be a cold day in hell…” I shall refrain from adding the rest of his comments regarding his culinary skills._

Spike is an avid fan of Sid Vicious’ band ‘The Sex Pistols’ and the punk band ‘The Ramones’. In the 1980’s Spike’s punk look was copied by the artist Billy Idol, a performer, the subject admits, who can at least sing and has good taste. He also has an appreciation for human food and drink, and frequently enjoys his blood not served from human throats, to be spiced with added flavors and textures. Spike is a smoker.

The subject would like it to be know that he has a particular fondness for the following:  
• -English Stout  
• -Jack Daniels  
• -Hot Chocolate _“with those little marshmallows”_  
• -Buffalo Wings  
• -Onion Blossoms  
• -Weetabix and Burba Weed _“to make that revolting bagged blood palatable”_  
• -Morley fags

Spike is in possession of a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. He comes complete with a swaggering posture, feline tendencies, and enjoys living by no one’s rule but his own. He has a habit of making pithy and sometimes scathingly hurtful and glib remarks.

_The subject would like it written that though he has purred once or twice in the past, he is not a “bloody cat”. Once he was informed that was not what was meant by ‘feline tendencies’ the subject demanded that his previous comment be stricken from the record. I have chosen not to do so._

Joyce shuffled the papers back. Looking up she noticed that she had been sitting there, reading for some time. Stretching she got up and began completing the tasks she had set before her earlier. While she worked she mused about her newfound knowledge. She was curious and amused. Spike seemed like he would be quite the addition to their family. She wondered what had happened to his sire and vampire family, and how exactly did he come to be in that pet shop to begin with. With a history such as his, she felt she should’ve been more wary of welcoming such a monster into their lives. But strangely she didn’t. It seems like that shop girl was more reassuring then she had thought. Shrugging it off she decided to tackle the mail next.

Apparently, they were moving.

Joyce wanted to growl in contempt. _‘Perhaps Spike is starting to rub off on me already.’_ True their house right now was much too large for just the three of them, and filled with various un-pleasant memories. Add on that Buffy had just been expelled, a fresh new start somewhere else was rather appealing and probably necessary.

But Sunnydale? In California, yes, and only two hours away from Los Angeles, but still. It was a suburb on top of a gate way to hell, in more ways than one. Joyce had been born a socialite, and yes its true those days are now past, but to be forced to relocate to soccer mom territory. She wasn’t sure she had it in her. Did they expect her to commute to L.A. every day? What was she to do? _‘No.. What would Spike do?’_ she mused, a wicked smile cracking across her face. _‘He wouldn’t put up with it, not without benefits I’m sure.’_

Not stopping to think about what possible benefits her future vampire-in-law would have in her life, nor to think about the time zone differences, Joyce reached for her phone and dialed the number on the bottom of the letter. Feeling smug, Joyce called collect.

“Mr. Travers? Good afternoon, this is Joyce. Joyce Summers, Buffy your slayer’s mother. No I don’t know what time it is there but we have much to talk about and it shall not wait another minute.”

By the time she had gotten off the phone, Joyce was a new woman. Yes, they were moving to Sunnydale, California. No it wouldn’t be on her dime. By the time she finished with that English blowhard, he didn’t have enough hot hair to fill his head with let alone sputter on anything other than ”Yes, yes, it will be taken care of madam.” They would have a nice house, in a good neighborhood. One complete with covered porches on the front and rear entrances, a basement, and two baths. She also arranged for the Council to find her a nice new gallery to relocate to, so no long commutes for her. Buffy’s schooling would be entirely up to Joyce to arrange, but the best part was the house. It would never cost them anything to actually own every bit and piece and shingle of that house. For as long as Buffy was the Slayer, she would have a home for herself and for Spike. Never having to worry about utilities and mortgages was a blessing. Joyce was even alert enough to have an emergency fund made accessible to cover any un-explainable repair costs.

Proud that she had done the best to provide her baby with a future, Joyce grabbed her coat and purse and marched out the door with a big smile splashed across her face. She was going shopping. _‘Let’s see, I’ll need to get some toiletries and blood for Spike, some masculine bed linens, oh and a nice white dress for Buffy’s wedding. I believe the shopkeeper said something natural like linen. Oh, maybe a cake too!’_ A woman on a mission, Joyce hit the boutiques.


	3. The Third Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Buffy Meets Spike at long last. !!!Warning de-flowering ahead!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a "THANK YOU!" to my BETA Anigen! I hope she's still with me.

Buffy barely acknowledged the ex-watcher doctor’s parting words as she stepped out the front doors of the sanatorium. She was feeling weighed down but determined to fulfill her destiny. _‘Honestly it’s a bit much for a fifteen year old to put up with’_ she thought sourly, hoping she wouldn’t end up aging prematurely. _‘Though bigger boobs wouldn’t be too bad but heaven forbid I get a grey hair. Or God! Wrinkles!’_ Shaking off those terror inducing thoughts, she continued on towards the exit, half expecting her kind of boyfriend and partner-in-vampire slaying, Pike, to be waiting for her. She figured they’d zoom back to her parent’s house and she’d pack a bag and take off on a _‘Doing Your Duty Slaying-spree’_ somewhere like Vegas or Hollywood. She was completely blown away at how instead of a cute bad boy on a moped, she saw her mother in her SUV.

“Mommy?”

Joyce jumped out of her car and ran towards her daughter. “Buffy, baby!” she cried and enveloped her only child in a smothering embrace. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart so very, very, sorry.” She murmured into her daughter’s hair rocking her child back and forth. Buffy was hurt, true. Very much so. She had been through so much pain, and fear, and had to do it all alone, and when she became a slayer she was betrayed by those that were supposed to love and help her. Not throw her away like so much crazy garbage. Even though Buffy was trembling with confused, hurtful rage, she still latched onto her mother like a drowning person in the sea. For she was drowning, and at last it seemed like she was finally going to be saved. Together the women burst into tears. First of pain and loss and fear. Then some happy tears came through at long last.

“I missed you mommy.”

“I missed you too baby.”

“Mommy, I… I’m sorry..”

“No Buffy!” Joyce stopped her weeping daughter sternly. She backed out of their desperate embrace to face her daughter squarely in her cloudy emerald eyes. She grasped her daughter’s shoulders and declared. “Buffy don’t you ever apologize for what you did. Well maybe burning the gymnasium down to kill those vampires was a tad too excessive but still. The only ones who have to apologize are your father and I. So I am the one who is sorry Buffy. Me. You may not be able to forgive me, or maybe at least not for some time for what I did, betraying you like we did. But I promise you I will do everything possible in my power to not only make up for my mistakes, but to help you in every way possible. You will never be alone again.”

Buffy’s lips trembled with emotion. She was home at long last she was finally home. She only managed to sputter out _‘Mum’_ before burrowing herself into her mother’s bosom and wailing like the lost child she had been. Slayer, yes, but still just a frightened little girl.

Once they were all cried out and their eyes almost too puffy to see with, they turned and made their way into the family car. Strapped in, Joyce told her daughter how instead of heading straight home they were going to go to her spa and get the full beauty treatment and massage. “I’ve also got something very special for you too, Buffy. It’s a surprise that will help your with your slaying and keep you nice and safe. But before that we are going to be pampered and spoiled, and you sweetie are going to get all dolled up in this beautiful new dress I bought for you.”

“Oh, are there shoes too?” she asked, eyes round with excitement. 

“Of course there are shoes for you too!” Joyce smiled starting the car. “The loveliest white strappy sandals you ever did see. Just wait.” Buffy smiled. _‘It’s going to be a perfect day!’_ she thought and began to relax and hope and feel normal again.

*

She looked him over. “Well Spike, tonight’s the night!” she announced gleefully. “Let’s get you ready for show, shall we.”

Spike growled.

“Stop that.” She scolded and opened his cell.

One would expect an irate vampire of Spike’s character to explode at this opportunity to escape and reap vengeance upon his captor. He did not. He eyeballed the woman with a contemptuous British sneer and exited his prison with the air and grace of a king among peasants. “Come. Follow.” She ordered and turned her back to him, leading the way.

“You’ve a lotta nerve.” Spike later announced as the woman had him stripped naked and scrubbed from head to toe. His every nook and cranny was seen to and cleaned thoroughly from behind and inside his ears, to between toes and under nails. Even his fangs received a minty fresh cleansing.

“Oh? How so?” she humored him as she began to trim his hair and re-bleach it for good measure.

“You fibbed to that woman, Joyce.” Spike answered as he tilted his head forward so as not to run the risk of having any of his roots become the wrong shade due to her failure to reach them. “There will be nothing stopping me from ripping into her precious Buffy and using her throat as my bloody chalice.” He smirked.

“I didn’t lie, Spike.” She corrected him. “I work in retail, there’s a difference. I chose my words very carefully, as I do with all my sales.” The woman proceeded to check and trim his nails as needed whilst waiting for his hair to finish. She caught his questioning glance and decided to elaborate. She always seemed to do that with this particular subject. _‘He’s special that way.’_

“You see Spike, I made sure to say the proper things like _‘practically immortal’_. For no claim or ritual of my knowledge will ever grant the girl true immortality.” She said. “Well at least not one Mrs. Summers’ could possibly afford.”

All expression slid off of Spike’s handsome face as she finished and rinsed the cream from his head. With a last bit of styling she led him into the chamber where the ritual was to take place. The shopkeeper noticed and nodded at him. “That’s correct Spike. I also said the ritual we are about to perform was _‘like a claim’_. Not that it is one. So no you will not be able to as you put it _‘drink from her throat like a bloody chalice’_. Instead you will be exactly what they are buying you for. This is a pet store after all, Spike.”

Spike growled, cursing the circumstances that had brought him here, powerless before the business woman before him. He stood stock still as she buckled his new collar about his neck. It was at least fitting to his persona, all black leather with silver spikes and a silver diamond shaped tag dangling from the center. Engraved on the front of the tag was his name **“Spike”** and the reversed stated he was the property of Joyce and Buffy Summers. _‘I’m just a big fluffy puppy with... bad teeth!’_

She recalled those circumstances with gentle amusement, as she did all things in regards to Spike. When Spike had been brought to her store he had been both vicious and indignant. Not so different now really if one thought about it, but he hadn’t been alone then. He had been with his Sire and Lover, Drusilla, protecting her as if she were his mate, with an air of quiet desperation. It was all on her behalf though, not his own. Perhaps that is what had originally caught her eye? Normally vampires captured as he had been were sold off to government facilities for testing and experimentation. There were so many that the profits were reasonably decent. Spike however, announced to her face that sad afternoon that he would play ball, for a price.

Imagine? A captive offering to make a deal, when whether he behaved or not was not an issue or an encumbrance for one such as her, was almost laughable. It was unheard of and yet she still chose to listen to what he had to say, and then comply. He agreed to be a commodity if his sickly, and soon to be euthanized, beloved was cured then released.

So she did.

She cured Drusilla’s weak and diseased body, the same body which she later learned was the reason the two had been captured to begin with. Spike had been searching for her cure, when they were set upon and unable to escape. Hale and hearty, Drusilla turned from dying stray into potential customer. The shopkeeper sold Drusilla a demon that the vampiress confessed to wanting above all things. It was not to be her darling dark undead prince, however, but an elderly chaos demon that had been sliming up the place. Drusilla made her purchase then left. The shopkeeper had been happy with the sale, but poor Spike was devastated. He had been abandoned by his sire, and lover of over a hundred years, for an old, antlered, slime dripping, discount demon companion.

Spike then sat in his pen for a number of years, moping in despair, until a buyer had at long last appeared. _‘Twas kismet’_ she thought, as she used a long needle to remove a considerable amount of blood from his person. “Best get in the ritual waters now Spike. They should be here shortly.” She directed, pointing to the pool in the ground. It was like a small in-ground Jacuzzi where instead of jet propelled hot water, the liquid within bubbled and sparkled with magic and light.

“I’m counting on you to seduce the girl, not frighten her with a premature viewing of your assets. And remember to use all the charm at your disposal. We require this ritual to actually take place after all.”

“I know what to do, damn it!” Spike snarled as he slid into the cool, waste deep, pool. “She’ll be piddling her knickers with just a look, you’ll see.” He declared. “Jus’ so we’re clear though. I’ll still get my ring yeah?”

“Yes Spike.” She told him as she made her way to the store to greet her guests. “After the ritual is done, and the wedding papers are complete, you’ll get your ring.” 

*

Buffy was on cloud nine. First she had the best make up with her mommy that she had only ever dreamed about. Then they went and spent a wonderful day at the spa together. They’d been pampered and cleansed from top to bottom. Had a healthy refreshing lunch, and stopped at the salon for a Style, Mani & Pedi. Afterwards her mom had bought her the most beautiful white dress. It was linen soft and had a Grecian toga cut. But the best part of all? It had matching strappy sandals! Dolled up and feeling like a bride on her wedding day, they were now on their way to pick up _‘Buffy’s Special Present!’_

_‘Which is apparently at a pet store.’_ she mused. “Am I getting a puppy?” Buffy asked out loud, somewhat recalling her mother saying something about a surprise that would help her with slaying. _‘A slayer puppy maybe? Do they even make those?’_

Buffy kept curious as they entered the shop and a shop girl greeted her mother warmly. Wondering what was going on, she followed the women into the back of the store. After that Buffy couldn’t seem to concentrate on breathing properly let alone what her mother and the strange woman were up to.

_‘WOW!’_ and _‘Yum…’_ were at the forefront of Buffy’s mind as she gaped at the possibly naked but definitely topless uber-hottie in the center of the room. She felt certain that her brain may have mentioned something along the lines of _‘Whatever you do, don’t do something stupid’_ but she couldn’t for the life of her be sure.

He had the most hypnotic blue eyes she’d ever seen, once she managed to drag her hungry gaze up off his killer abs. Eyes that could stare into her very soul, but seemed content to just go as far as under her clothes, and skim temptingly along her bare skin. He gave her a saucy wink that turned her into Buffy-shaped lust gelatin. _‘Is he naked under all that water?’_ she mused again, giving him a friendly little wave and idiot grin. Her mother had to physically force her gaze away from the naughty young man in order to gain her attention. 

“Buffy sweet heart, that nice young man other there, no don’t look honey I’m talking to you, is the reason we’re here.” Joyce began. “You see I’ve made all the arrangements so what we’re going to do is a little ritual and you’re going to marry that boy there. Then he can keep you safe and happy and help you with being a Slayer! It’s all for you, baby.”

Buffy’s signature pout turned into wary dismay as her mother explained why they were there. The fifteen year old could get her mother’s urge to help, but marriage? _‘Not to mention rituals are no not of the good!’_ she grimaced, _‘and in a pet shop of all places! At least it wasn’t the Malt Stop!’_ She was about to declare the whole thing impossible when it happened.

He stretched.

Now it wasn’t just him moving that caught her attention and made all her burgeoning protests fizzle away like day old soda pop. It was the way he moved. Both alabaster arms rising from the water in perfect unison, like wave dancers, to rest behind his neon white hair. It was shortly followed by a feline-like bend in his back, which caused his dew speckled chest to rise and his six pack to be more pronounced. Seeing he had her full attention, he concluded his actions by placing his tongue behind his upper teeth and gifted her with a slight head tilt and raised eyebrow.

Buffy’s knees knocked together with such force that they were probably the only part of her lower limbs that could support her trembling body. _‘Oh God! Was that an orgasm! Did I just ... from only that? Oh…’_ Her brain stuttered as she was lead closer to the object of her soaking undergarments. There was actually a small puddle of drool pooling in the corner of her partially opened mouth.

“Come Buffy; let us introduce you to Spike.”

_‘Spike? Isn’t that a dog’s name?’_ Buffy mused, as the two women practically carried her over to the water’s edge. _‘Oh! Does that mean we can take him home? Please please please please puh-lease!’_ her teenage libido cried.

“Buffy, sweetheart, this is Spike. Spike this is my daughter Buffy.”

“Hello cutie.”

“Hi, I’m Buffy!” she answered, or at least tried to answer. Buffy was sure she may have squealed something a little more hyper and garbled, but he smiled at her and she forgot. “Hi.” She tried again, unable to restrain a giddy school girl giggle. _‘Note to self: Stop saying hello. He’ll think you’re some kind of spazz.’_

“Coming in love?” he asked, sending a small splash her way. “Water’s fine.”

_‘That’s not the only thing.’_

Buffy wished she could have replied with something sophisticated, intelligent, sexy, cool. Something with words even. But she opened her mouth and a bubble-headed laugh emerged instead.

With nary a glance sent her way, Joyce began undressing her only child, starting with her new strappy shoes. _‘It had to be done’_ she told herself. And as embarrassing as the night would end up being, at least she could hold onto the comfort that while being a witness she’d be assured that her daughter would be treated with respect and kindness during her de-flowering.

Buffy’s gaze was devoured by Spike’s azure depths. She never noticed the shop girl taking a syringe to her arm and withdrawing a health amount of her blood. Buffy barely registered being lowered into the sparkling pool with Spike, and only slightly became aware that she was completely nude. “Hi.” She said yet again as they were now more or less level. Then Spike grinned at her causing her to almost drown in front of him like a complete dork. She was saved from her fate as he graciously wrapped one well muscled arm around her, keeping her close up against his body. 

_‘He is so totally naked.’_ Buffy’s brain squealed. Her ignorant skin quivered against his cold hard chest with both fear and delight. Her hands couldn’t help but splay themselves across his sculpted Pecs, reveling in the feel of her marble Adonis. She nervously nibbled her bottom lip, gasping as his eyes hungrily feasted themselves upon her plumping bruised flesh. Her heart pounded madly in her chest and her breaths turned into quick pants as she eagerly anticipated the moment when he would finally kiss her.

Their moment was shattered as the shopkeeper snapped her fingers in their faces.

The couple turned, a mix of embarrassment and irritation on their faces, to see what the hell it was she wanted. 

“Ah thank you.” She said having acquired their attention at long last. “Now we can begin the ritual. First, Spike will begin by drinking half of the contents within this chalice,” She announced holding a sparsely decorated wooden cup in her hands. “After which he will say the following: _‘In the name of the power that resides within me, by the life that courses in your blood, I claim thee as mine own, according to the free will of all’_. Then you will have to reply: _‘Yes. Forever. Always.’_ And Spike will conclude with _‘so mote it be’_. Then you switch. All clear?”

She handed the cup over to Spike and he gripped it in his free hand. Hesitating slightly he gulped down his share before meeting Buffy’s eyes once more.

“Buffy.” He began, his dreamy English accent tripping erotically across her senses. “I choose, In the name of the power that resides within me. By the life that courses within your blood. I claim thee as mine own, according to the free will of all.”

“Yes… forever… always…” Buffy breathed in reply, unconsciously fulfilling her part. _‘He could make the dictionary sound like poetry.’_ She thought nearly swooning.

“So mote it be.”

Buffy was then passed the chalice, as it was now up to her to complete the rest of the ritual. Peeking inside, the concoction was an icky brownish red colour, nearly black, and had bits of herbs and what looked like glitter floating in it. It smelt disturbingly yucky, but if He drank it She wasn’t about to back down like some kind of loser. Pinching her nose, Buffy raised the drink to her lips and swallowed as fast and as lady-like as she could manage.

It tasted much worse than it looked or smelled. It was like old pennies and something minty, like mentos or tic tacs scavenged up from the bottom of her purse. Then the texture was a combination of oil and pudding and something gritty like used coffee grounds. Buffy refused to gag. She would not, could not, spew on the bleached babe. She was the slayer; she could handle gross disgusting monsters and demons, so she could handle gross disgusting drinks. She just prayed there had not been any raw eggs in it, because that would seriously mess up her stomach.

_‘Just don’t think about it Buffy! Chug!’_

“Blech.” She muttered, handing the empty vessel back. Almost immediately her insides began to warm and tingle. The feelings spread through her body as if her skin had been asleep and was now beginning to awaken. Gazing at the peroxide blonde before her in wonder, she realized she had yet to recite her lines. Returning his perked brow with a sheepish girly grin she began. “I choose you. In the name of the power that rides in me.”

“Resides.” The shopkeeper corrected.

“Yeah, resides within me. By… the life of the blood... No by the life that...courses in your blood! I claim thee as mine, according to the free will of all!” Buffy concluded with a small smirk of triumph.

Laughter danced in Spikes eyes and he couldn’t help but bark “Yeah, forever, always,” In amusement.

“So… note it be!”

“Mote it be.”

“What she said.”

“No, Buffy you have to say it.”

“Right, so mote it be then.”

_‘Finally!’_ the shopkeeper’s eyes declared, rolling dramatically. Buffy never noticed, nor seemed the least bit interested. She was feeling much too hot, and Spike felt ever so wonderfully cool. She wanted him. She wanted him desperately. Every fiber of her being actually burned for the man in front of her, and she was certain he must be yearning for her as well. She could see the untamed desires flicker like gold in his deep blue eyes.

The shopkeeper gestured quickly to her mother and they brought forth a small book, some papers, and a small velvet bag. The woman handed her mother a blue bic pen and the papers then opened the book. Lastly she upended the bag, releasing 2 rings onto the open page. “Let us begin.”

Authority spilled forth from her lips, commanding Buffy to pay attention, despite how her body writhed like a cat in heat against Spike’s own. “We are gathered at this pace to witness the formal joining of this male to this female, according to the order and customs prevailing, under the authority given and provided by the state of California, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Do you take Elizabeth Anne Summers to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” Spike said.

“Do you Joyce Eloise Summers consent to their union?”

“I do.” Joyce confirmed, signing the documents provided which already sported Spike’s signatures.

“Then by the authority vested in me by the Powers That Be, the state of California, Lilith and Lamia queens and mothers of the damned and demons in general, and lastly, those guys on the internet, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Rings.”

Buffy watched with glazing eyes as her mother took one of the rings and slipped it onto her left hand. The same was being done for Spike, though she noticed his ring had a large green stone in it center, the colour of burnt jade.

“You may complete both ceremonies by ravishing your bride.” The woman decreed as she and Joyce hurriedly stepped back.

It started with a kiss.

Their first kiss was sweet and innocent. Delicate like a butterfly’s wing, brushing her lips tenderly. Testing her, teasing her, searing her with subtle gentility. Buffy felt hotter than ever, with this one simple kiss. Her blood boiled beneath her skin, and begged for relief. The water surrounding them splashed like a miniature monsoon, but it did nothing to quell the rise in temperature. Not like his lips. Not like his hands, oh his glorious hands. Everywhere they traveled they soothed and taunted. His manly chest was pressed so close to her breasts he could burrow directly into her bones. Her body trembled with feverish desire when at long last he claimed her over sensitized lips like a starved man devours ripe fruit. His tongue twisted and danced erotically with hers; their mouths swallowing every gasp, whimper, and moan that escaped their throats.

But it was not enough, not nearly enough, because she wanted more and more and more.

Spike grabbed her thighs and spread her legs wide, anchoring her knees at his waist. He slowly, gently, leaned her back against the pool’s edge, keeping one arm constantly secured around her. His fingers trailed mischievously down her stomach only to complete their travels at the apex of her femininity. There he played masterfully with her sensitive pearl until she screeched with pure pleasure.

Buffy was never so innocent not to have touched herself before. However she conceded that her own brand of self gratification paled considerably compared to the orgasms that erupted at Spike’s touch. She forgot about her mother and the stranger in the room, as all the existed was she, and Spike, and the dizzy stars she was now intimately acquainted with.

Then came the pain.

She never saw how _‘big’_ he was, as Buffy was too shy to actually peek at the _‘man meat’_ poking insistently at her. But whatever size he was, he was too big. His head bumped eagerly at her opening and as wet and she was it was no good. Her juices spilled out of her like an up-ended paint can, and the waters seemed to help pry her nether lips open instead of impede his progression, yet he still could not enter. He tried anyway. With each agonizingly slow push, her poor in-experienced body pushed back. Buffy wanted nothing more than to have him, have sex with Spike right here and right now. She wanted him to pound into her horny teenage body like a jack-hammer. To have him take her virginity, and to never stop taking her for as long as they both lived. Her privates yearned to feel that hard, cold part of Spike buried deep within them, but muscles continued to contract and push, and try to force him away. Her legs shook and cramped and made a part of her long to close them tight and curl up until the pain went away. Every millimeter he gained burned and ripped as he forced his cold hard steel shaft inside her. Impaling her tight tender flesh and tearing it open, making her bleed. It was agony, pure undiluted agony. Tears ran down her cheeks like twin waterfalls and she wanted to push him far away as she clung desperately to him, her manicure cutting crescent moons into his back and neck.

When he moved her limbs felt weak, but once he thrust into her wounded depths her mouth opened wide in silent exclamation. It got better. It got so much better. First pain, then a sort of rubbing comfort like one does after having bumped an elbow against a corner. Like magic his cold, hard, unyielding steel melted into polished, malleable plastic. Hard, yes. Cold, yes. But good, oh how good it felt. In and out. Over and over. Rubbing and caressing tender nerves into smooth silk. Again and again and oh harder, faster, yes, like that! There! Yes! AH!

“Spike!”

Stars didn’t come close this time. It was the sun, bright and brilliant and blinding. Buffy closed her eyes and lightly thumped her head against her lover’s chest. She sighed and she heard his sweet nothings caress her hair, like his hands caressed her back. She felt content and loved and absolutely fabulous. No health class could have prepared her for this exhausting moment of contented bliss. Spike was… wow. He was perfect, he was everything she… he didn’t have a heartbeat.

_‘Somebody has some serious explaining to do!’_


End file.
